6 comments/ 12947 views/ 1 favorites With the Heart By: EveHasFallen NOTE: This is the first part of a story/novel that I just started writing. It still needs polish, but I'd love comments and feedback. And, this part ends at an awkward section, but I'll update soon. “The man who invented the corset should be shot,” Arabella Smythe muttered in frustration. At the present moment, she was holding tight to her bedpost while her lady’s maid, Margaret, trussed her tightly into a whalebone cage. “That’s a bit drastic, isn’t it,” the maid asked, gritting her teeth as she pulled the laces tighter. Arabella gasped in discomfort. “Indeed, he should be burned at the stake. Oh, enough!” Whether out of pity or exhaustion, Margaret relinquished her hold on Arabella and expertly tied the dangling strings into a bow. Arabella, one hand pressed to her stomach, grimaced and stepped away from the foot of the bed. Margaret, having served as her maid for the last six years, since Belle was a child of twelve, automatically went to the wardrobe and drew out the ball gown that she was to wear that night. Inwardly, Margaret sighed with a sense of slight envy—of which she wasn’t even aware—as she gazed at the masterpiece of a gown. The bodice was square and low-cut with a row of seed-pearl flowers dancing around the edge. Made of a silvery fabric with a gauzy overskirt, dotted all over with the same hand-sewn flowers that adorned the bodice, the entire dress seemed like something a fairy princess would wear to meet her prince. Yet, Margaret admitted to herself, Arabella Smythe was hardly anyone’s idea of a fairy princess. Though the two young women all but grew up together, with Margaret serving as maid and companion, the older girl was not oblivious to the reality that was Arabella. Of course, she was a wonderful, well-reared girl and she possessed the biggest heart of anyone that Margaret had ever met, but she suffered from a shyness and self-consciousness that she could not overcome. As a child, Bella had been beautiful just like her two older sisters, in fact, when Margaret first saw her at twelve years old she’d been dressed so perfectly, her skin so flawless and her manner so impeccable that Margaret, though three years her elder, had been intimidated. But, she soon found that Bella, as Arabella insisted she call her, was one of the most interesting and entertaining people that she had ever met. Before that first week was out, ‘Maggie’ and Bella loved each other as well as sisters. Those days had been lovely for Maggie, for she’d never had a sister and barely remembered her mother who died of the sweat when Maggie was only three. But the Smythe family, while noble and quite wealthy, with familial connections to several dukes, treated her kindly from her first day of employment. Thinking back, Maggie could clearly remember when she first discovered that the Bella she knew, was not the same girl that the ton was accustomed to. Maggie had hardly been employed at Edgewood, the countryseat of the Smythe family, for two months when Lady Smythe, Bella’s mother, decided to throw a garden party. The household was in an uproar for a week before the twenty guests were set to arrive and Maggie was so busy with other duties that she barely noticed Bella’s melancholy mood. Absentmindedly, Maggie helped Bella dress and style her hair with the usual care, gently pushing her out of the bedroom door, saying, “Be sure to behave yourself, Miss, we don’t want any scandals before you’ve made your debut.” She meant it as a jest, but Bella didn’t smile back. Maggie was about to ask her if she was well, when she heard Mrs. Pipps, the housekeeper, calling her name from the direction of the servants quarters and she was soon so busy that she forgot all about Bella’s mood. An hour or so later, Maggie was told to help serve refreshments on the east lawn, where the main party had gathered. As she’d been taught, she mingled her way unobtrusively through the revelers, supplying what they needed but remaining as invisible as possible. Thus, it was with surprise that she registered Lady Smythe calling to her from a few feet away. “Margaret, once you finish here, take some lemonade and teacakes out to the children, won’t you? The whole bunch has gone down with the governesses to see the pond.” What Lady Smythe called the ‘pond’ was really the size of a small lake, but Maggie bobbed an obedient curtsy, murmuring, “Yes, m’lady.” With the help of another maid named Truth, Maggie made her way to the pond, careful not to tip the pitcher of lemonade or overturn the glasses on her silver tray. Summer air blew fragrant against her rosy cheeks, and she inhaled the sweet scents of the foliage with contentment. Some might wish to be part of the nobility, but I’d settle for never-ending summertime, she thought. The tree-lined path to the pond curved to the right, so as Maggie and Truth approached, they weren’t able to see the shore, but could clearly hear squeals of laughter. Maggie smiled to herself at the sound. The ton was so strict and controlled in its every tradition and social action, and surely, if the children’s parents were anywhere near they would all be much more subdued. “Nice ta know tha the little’uns ken still act like little’uns,” Truth remarked in her Scottish bur, as she and Maggie rounded the corner and came into full view of the pond’s shore. Maggie kept silent, but whole-heartedly agreed. Automatically, her eyes began to search the shore for Bella’s figure. She half-expected the little imp to be up to her knees in the pond water in search of tadpoles or at the top of one of the nearby apple trees. But she couldn’t find her. The children, upon seeing the two maids, one bearing a tray of lemonade, the other one of teacakes, raced over and—contrary to their previously boisterous behavior—quickly formed a single-file line to receive their treat. Maggie and Truth exchanged an amused glance that clearly said: Good breeding has its merits. It took almost five minutes for all of the children to be served, and Maggie realized that Bella hadn’t shown herself yet. Worried, it dawned on Maggie that if Bella had wandered off somewhere, she’d not have the slightest idea about where to begin to look for her. Casting her eyes about in indecision, she set her gaze upon a boy of Bella’s age. If she recalled correctly, his name was Phillip Cavendish, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember his title. Setting her tray down on a stone bench, she approached the boy with a friendly smile. “Good afternoon…” she started, desperately trying to remember if he was a ‘Lord,’ a ‘Sir,’ or a ‘Mister.’ Frustrated, she gave up and finished with, “Good afternoon, Lord Cavendish,” at least if she’d guessed wrong it wouldn’t be an insult to his rank. The boy smiled at her, and the expression seemed to light up his whole face, Maggie knew for a certainty that he would be a very handsome man in the years to come. Tipping his head to her, he said, not rudely, “Lord Cavendish is my father, the Earl, I am Lord Rutherford, Baron of Rutherford Keep.” “Indeed, forgive me for the mistake, Sir,” Maggie replied, liking the boy instantly for his kindness in light of her blunder. “But, I wonder if you might know the whereabouts of Lady Arabella. Has she gone back to the house, do you know?” Lord Rutherford’s smile slackened until it was nearly gone and his eyes slid uneasily away from Maggie’s. “She…she went off around to the other side of the pond about three quarters of an hour ago.” Maggie’s brow wrinkled in surprise. “She went alone? But, why?” Lord Rutherford sighed. “Some of the other boys called her names. They…called her ‘Fatty,’ and a Plain Jane. I don’t think the governesses saw, but she ran away crying before anyone could stop her. No one wanted to be punished for teasing, so everyone held their tongues.” Fury flared inside Maggie’s chest that anyone would dare treat Bella that way, especially when they were all guests on her parents’ estate. Suppressing the urge to grab the offenders by the ears and force an apology, she spoke quickly to the young lord. “If the children and governesses go back to the house before I return with Lady Arabella, inform Lady Smythe that I have gone in search of her, if you please, my lord.” She didn’t wait for a reply or bob the customary curtsy as she headed off toward the opposite side of the pond. Once she was blocked from view by a copse of trees, she broke into a run, not knowing if she was heading in the right direction, but needing to find Bella. After half an hour of clambering through open wood and vegetation, she heard a gentle plop-a-plop-a-plop coming from where the woods gave way to the shore of the pond. Coming into the opening, Maggie immediately saw Bella sitting, knees drawn up to her chest, on a huge rock settled securely a few feet out into the pond. She’d gathered a well-sized pile of pebbles and was robotically tossing them one-by-one into the wind-rippled water lapping at the base of the rock. Perhaps Maggie stepped on a twig or some other noise heralded her presence because Bella whipped around as she approached, only to relax when she saw who it was. “I do not want to go back there,” she stated rigidly, before Maggie said a word. “And I don’t blame you.” Maggie stood at the edge of the water trying to determine a way to get onto the rock without wetting her petticoats and maid’s uniform. Eyeing the hem of Bella’s formerly pristine dress, she noted the three-inch ring of wetness and gave up hope. “And I don’t like boys,” Bella went on as if Maggie had never spoken. “Oh, how glad I am that I do not have brothers. They are dirty and smelly and rude and…and horrible.” She rested her chin on her knees, tossing yet another pebble into the blue-gray depths of the pond. “Yes,” Maggie began slowly, unsure of how to go about this, “some of them can be, but not all are quite so horrible. Think of your father, Lord Smythe, for example. He was once a boy just like the ones visiting today, but he is a wonderful man, is he not?” Bella was quiet for a moment. “Yes, but Papa would have never been so rude to me like Thomas, Lucas, and the others were today. They called me horrible things and I’d done nothing to them, Maggie!” Arabella turned to face Maggie, her nose and eyes reddened from tears. Maggie’s heart ached for her. “Dearest, life is sometimes quite cruel, but those times help make us stronger. And, as for the boys who teased you today, in a few short years they will regret their words when you blossom into a more beautiful young lady.” Instead of lightening Bella’s dark mood, Maggie’s words seemed to make it worse, for she began to cry in earnest. “But, that w-will never h-happen because I am f-fat and plain a-and timid!” Maggie regarded Bella, at a loss for what to say. It was true that Bella was plumper than most girls her age, but Maggie had never thought her fat. Indeed, she’d simply imagined that it was Bella’s babe-hood plumpness and would diminish, as she grew older. To Maggie, Bella was an extremely lovely girl and had grown lovelier each day that she knew her. But for the first time, Maggie realized that she might not appear the same to those who didn’t know her. Bella was slightly taller than average, and her red-brown hair curled in wild waves rather than fall in a graceful cascade. Rose-colored freckles, from many days in the garden without a hat, kissed her skin and her green-brown eyes were framed in a round face that most of the world would view as overly plump. Despite the fact that Maggie now realized that Bella did not possess the outward beauty that the ton so valued, she ached for Bella’s realization of it; for she knew that it was something that the sensitive girl would take to her heart, something she might allow to hold her back from the rest of the world, when what she really needed was to take a bold step forward. “Bella,” Maggie said firmly, “you must never, ever think badly of yourself. You are a beautiful person in every way that matters and that is all that you need think of. This ton, this noble society of yours may be quite shallow and vain,” Maggie said, not even thinking of the fact that her words insulted the very foundation of Bella’s way of life, “but you are better than that. You must always thank God for who and what you are, and never let anyone—anyone—make you believe otherwise.” With a dejected sigh, Bella rose from her perch on the rock and hopped lightly from it to the shore. Maggie smiled at her and reached to take her hand. “Come, let’s go back to the house, your mother is probably wondering where you are and we can’t keep everyone waiting for you before they go in for tea.” Maggie began the walk back to the house, and if she hadn’t been walking so near Bella, she might have missed it when the girl whispered to herself, “It is too bad I can’t become a lady’s maid and have you face them for the rest of your life.” Maggie didn’t respond, but she was heartily glad that she couldn’t trade places with Bella, for she wanted no part of the ton. “Maggie? Maggie?” The voice jolted Maggie back to the present. Turning toward Bella, she blinked a few times to clear her thoughts, still holding the ball gown she’d just retrieved from the wardrobe. Arabella laughed at her bemused expression. “Now’s not the time for woolgathering, my dear, Mother will have my hide if I’m even a minute late to leave for tonight’s soiree.” Shaking off the remnants of the past, Maggie bustled across the room to help Bella finish dressing. “Forgive me, I seem to have lost myself in thought.” She slid the silk over Bella’s head, allowing her to push her arms through the puffed sleeves, before beginning to button up the back. She worked in silence for a moment, before asking, “Do you know why Lady Smythe is so adamant about this ball? It seems a bit odd that she would care so much about one night out, when your family never has a lack for invitations.” “I was thinking the same thing. I never presume to understand Mother’s reasoning, for she works in ways far beyond my ken.” She bit her lip in thought, and then gasped. “Perhaps, Lord Geoffrey has finally offered for Beth. That would explain why Mother behaved so oddly these past few days. Oh, can you imagine it, Maggie, our Beth a married woman!” Maggie met Bella’s excited gaze in the cheval glass mirror that they were standing before and smiled, saying, “And then it shall be you, Miss.” Laughing quietly, Bella ran a hand across her chubby hips and stomach. “I think not, Maggie, for as the saying goes, ‘A plump pillow, and not a plump thigh, is the best welcome to the marriage bed.’” Bella laughed again, but this time there was a hint of sadness. “That’s nonsense and you know it, Bella,” the maid chided. “You are beautiful in every way that matters and—“ “Any man worth his coin will see that,” Bella finished for her. Maggie had repeated the same phrase so many times since Bella’s society debut two years previous that it sometimes came out without Maggie even needing to think about it. “Well, it’s true,” she argued, “and all that’s left is for you to realize it.” “Alright, I surrender!” Bella laughed, “There is no need to beat it into me. I believe in myself. I am beautiful…etcetera and so forth,” she said with good-humored sarcasm. “There, you see? If you were as witty,” Maggie said the word slowly, pretending that she doubted it was the correct usage, “with the ladies gentlemen of society, no one would think you the timid creature that you allow them to see. Wouldn’t you like to have a circle of ladies to chat with, or a real gentleman caller more often than you do?” She felt Bella’s shoulder tense a bit. “Dearest, I don’t mean to make you feel badly, but it frustrates me that the world doesn’t know the sweet, funny Bella that I do. If you would only open yourself up a little, you would be amazed at the change your life can take.” Arabella stepped away from the mirror to sit at her dressing table, waiting for Maggie to arrange her hair. After a few seconds of hesitation, Maggie took up a brush and began to pile Bella’s hair into an intricately woven Grecian knot. The silence between them stretched on for what seemed like hours. Maggie knew that her words angered Bella, but she would not apologize for what she knew was the truth. “I am quite happy, you know.” Bella said at last. “ I have Phil and Ralph, Beth and Cathy, so I don’t believe I shall waste away from lack of contact with the human race.” “You know that isn’t what I meant, at all.” Maggie protested. Bella sighed. “Yes, I know, I’m sorry. I just…I can’t seem to speak to people like Beth and the other ladies are able. A gentleman might say, ‘My, you’re looking quite fetching this evening, Lady Arabella,’—lies of course—and all that I am able to respond with is, ‘Thank you, my lord, you are too kind.’ But, Cathy and Beth, oh, the brilliant things that they think to say. Once, I heard Lord Winterdale say to Cathy, ‘Good evening, my lady. I must confess that your eyes sparkle brighter than the clearest diamond tonight and rival every candle in this room.’ To which she replied, ‘Fie, my lord, I turn pink-cheeked to admit that holding a clear-cut diamond would make my eyes shine ten times brighter. Have you any on your person to gift me, that I might demonstrate?’ He laughed so loudly, kissed her hand and asked her to dance even though Sir Lionel was next on her dance card.” Bella sighed, and then went on. “I don’t possess the ability to flirt or carry on witty conversation. I become nervous and knock-kneed, always afraid I’ll make a faux pas or utter something inane.” Finally finished with her hair, Maggie placed both hands on Bella’s shoulders. “You cannot go through life afraid of what others will think of you. How do you suppose Lady Elisabeth and Lady Catherine are able to do the things they do without faltering? It’s because they have faith and confidence in themselves, and they know that even if they make a faux pas it will not be the end of the world. The same is true for you, Bella, you simply need to realize that.” Bella bowed her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me or why it’s so difficult for me. Perhaps if I weren’t so fat or if I were pretty—“ “Stop that right now,” Maggie said angrily. “It’s that kind of thinking that makes you this way. You are just as good as anyone else, if not better.” She stopped as both women heard a bell ringing in the entrance hall downstairs, signaling that the family coach would depart in a few minutes. Maggie spoke quickly then, “You are eighteen years old, lovely, brilliant and loving, and you deserve to be happy. Promise me that you will make it your goal tonight to converse—truly converse—with at least one gentleman and allow him the privilege to get to know the real you. And,” Maggie continued, when she saw Bella open her mouth to reply, “the gentleman cannot be one with which you are already well acquainted.” Bella snapped her mouth shut in defeat, for she’d been about to promise, but meant to use Phil or her cousin Ralph as her ‘gentleman.’ “Fine, you gaoler, I promise to speak to one,” she emphasized the word, “gentleman and try to allow him to see the real me. What I don’t promise is that this will turn into the fairy tale you hope it will.” “That’s all I ask,” Maggie said, hugging her shoulders before she handed her the dress’s matching wrap. On the carriage ride to the Pinkford’s ball, Bella sat quietly next to her sister, Beth, as she conversed with their mother. She wished that she hadn’t agreed to Maggie’s silly little promise, in fact, she wished that she was still at home with a nice novel and a cup of tea. But, Mother had insisted that she come tonight, though she had yet to tell Bella why. That reminded her of her guess that tonight was to be Beth’s engagement announcement to Lord Geoffrey. It was true that Geoffrey’s family and the Pinkford’s were somehow related—though through whom, Bella couldn’t quite recall—so it would serve that since Lord Geoffrey’s father, a widower, preferred to stay in the country, that the Town betrothal announcement would take place at the home of a relative. With the Heart Bella slid her gaze over to Beth’s face, looking for any sign that she was holding in her excitement about becoming engaged. Beth wasn’t usually one to be able to keep a secret, but perhaps this was one that she’d been able to hold in check. In the dim light of the carriage lamps, Bella had an almost unobstructed view of Beth’s silhouette. At nineteen years old, she was in the prime of her life and beauty. Considered a diamond of the first water, Beth’s milk-and-strawberry complexion, rosy lips, blue eyes, long lashes and golden-brown hair were the ideal of London society. Sometimes Bella wondered how she and this beauty could be of the same blood. Beth possessed everything that Bella did not: charm, grace, wit, confidence, and a gaggle of young men that gathered around her at every ball or social assembly to hold court. Despite these things, Bella didn’t envy her sister, for she was too sweet and kind to be thought badly of. And that was something that Bella could thank the Gods for, because the eldest of the Smythe girls, Beatrice, though just a lovely and accomplished as Beth, was hard and calculating where Beth was gentle and loving. Indeed, now that Bella thought of it, all three of the Smyth girls seem to have been borne of different people, but made to live together by some twisted kind of fate. And she, herself, was the one who received the harshest blow. An outcast, a recluse, unable to even hold a decent conversation with anyone other than those she’d known all her life. She sighed in disgust, leaning her head back, and closing her eyes. ************************************************** “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Henry Westingham.” At the sound of his name being called out in slightly slurred, and obviously drunken tones, Henry, Lord Darcy, Duke of Darcy, turned, clenching his jaw when he saw who addressed him. This was definitely the last thing he needed tonight, an encounter in the middle of the Pinkford’s ball. “Sutcliffe,” he said, bowing at the waist in greeting to the man who had called his name, “how are you?” A burst of brandy-smelling laughter caught Henry off guard as his new companion, Andrew, Lord Sutcliffe, chuckled loudly. “I think you know quite well how I am, Lord Duke,” the man sneered, “for it was you who nearly bankrupted me at the gaming tables last month. Had to sell off the estate in Kent that m’mother left to me, you black-hearted bastard.” Henry crossed his arms behind his back and clenched his jaw to hold back his anger. “If I remember correctly it was you who demanded a game of cards with,” he rubbed his chin as if trying to recall an elusive fact, “ ‘that damned Darcy bastard’.” The other man’s nostrils flared in outrage. “I was well into my cups, a gentleman would have walked away, but you took advantage of my inebriation and nearly forced me into debtor’s prison because of it.” “Perhaps, if you stopped blaming others for your misfortunes, you wouldn’t have any, Sutcliffe. My advice? Cease to overindulge.” Tired of the pointless conversation, Henry turned to leave. As he moved a few steps away along the perimeter of the dance floor, he heard Sutcliffe call out, “You’ll pay for this, damn you, I swear you shall!” Several curious gazes turned toward the two men, and Henry cursed under his breath, knowing that those who had heard would be looking for any tidbit to feed their gossip mill and break up the seemingly endless moments of monotony of yet another ball. “Bloody fool,” Henry muttered, to himself as he continued on his way. It was true that a month ago when he’d crossed paths with Sutcliffe he’d known the man was drunk, but he sat down to a game of cards with him anyway. Every fiber of his upbringing to be a proper, honorable gentleman fought against his gambling with a drunken man, but he recalled a friend’s tale about Sutcliffe. Apparently, the man enjoyed taking advantage of innocents and had even had the audacity to try to force one of the friend’s maids to sleep with him when he’d been a guest in their home. So, it was as Henry listened to Andrew’s slurred insults against his manhood and all other like things, that he decided to teach the man a lesson that he wouldn’t soon forget. Even as Andrew’s friends, the ignoble Sir Nathaniel and Lord Fortson, tried to talk him out of challenging Henry, Henry took off his well-tailored black jacket and settled down to play a game of cards. It only lasted an hour or so, rather short for that type of thing, but in the end, Henry walked away with a massive portion of Andrew’s fortune and the deed to a hunting lodge in Abbeyshire, which Henry had never heard of but was supposed to be somewhere in Northern England. Guilt battered his conscious for weeks after the encounter, and he toyed with the idea of returning every single pound to Sutcliffe. Until tonight. The man was reprehensible; unfit to be welcome in society. Yet, his father was a Viscount and his mother the only daughter of an Earl, therefore he had automatic entrée into society, granted that he did not mar his name so black that even his lineage would not proceed him. At that thought, Henry grimaced, for Sutcliffe was coming very close to blackening his name beyond redemption, the licentious toad. “And, now that I think on it,” Henry said to himself, “I’m going to donate every bit of my winnings off him to a charity for battered women.” A satisfied smirk settled itself upon his face as he made his way through the crowded room. “What’s that smile for, old chap?” This time, the voice addressing him was jovial, familiar and welcome. Henry’s smile grew bigger as he turned to greet his best friend since childhood, Frederick, Lord Carstairs. “Freddy! I almost slipped into a decline, thinking you weren’t going to show tonight.” Freddy laughed. “If you were a woman, Henry, I’d think you were trying to flirt with me. Since you’re not, I’d rather not think about it at all,” he said, with a mock shudder. “So, what kept you? Promising your undying affection to some poor chit, just to steal a kiss?” Laughing again, Freddy slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Ah, but you underestimate me, my friend, if I stole anything I think it’d be more than a kiss.” His comment reminded Henry of Sutcliffe’s actions, and his mood darkened a bit. “Rather a crude comment, wasn’t it, Fred,” he asked, more harshly than he meant to. Freddy’s smile slipped a bit as he watched his friend’s face, knowing from experience that something was bothering him. “You know I didn’t mean that, Henry. I have four sisters after all. By the by, man, what’s gotten your goad?” “Sutcliffe.” He didn’t need to say more. “Bloody hell, that reprobate actually showed his face tonight?” Henry didn’t answer. “He didn’t make a scene, did he,” Freddy asked, immediately guessing the reason for Henry’s dark mood. “No more than I expected him to do once he managed to drag his sorry carcass back into society.” Neither spoke for several seconds, then Freddy asked, aghast, “Cynthia wasn’t near was she?” “No, thank God,” Henry replied, “ I don’t know how I would have explained that little incident to her. And I’m having a hard enough time trying to convince her father to allow me to formerly court her without Sutcliffe airing his dirty laundry and placing me at the core.” “Quite right. So, have you seen the lovely Lady Cynthia tonight, then?” Henry knew his friend was trying to change the subject to more pleasant things and gladly allowed himself to be carried along by Freddy’s infectious good mood. “Only as I was first coming into the ball. She was dancing with her cousin, Geoffrey, looking as ravishing as always in a silky, pink confection of a gown.” “My God,” Freddy chuckled with mock horror, “you know a man’s far gone when he starts speaking about a woman’s pretty clothing.” “I’ve nothing to dispute you there, my friend. If only her father would let me court her in earnest. The old windbag resists because he remembers hearing tales of my antics from my father when I was down at Cambridge.” “You can’t be serious, that was a decade ago!” “Only seven years,” Henry corrected, making Freddy smile. “But I had the same reaction. ‘My boy,’ he said to me, ‘I think that I’m right to assume that you have designs after my Cynthia.’ ‘Yes, Lord Everly,’ I said, ‘but I wouldn’t call them designs, precisely, but more along the vein of the noblest intentions.’” “Well said, Sir Poet,” Freddy joked. Henry ignored him. “ ‘Well, I’m a bit reluctant to allow her into your company, Sir, for I have heard tales of your antics,’ he croaked at me. I protested that I have behaved like a perfect gentleman for all of my adult life. He replied, ‘Perhaps, but I remember stories your father told around the card table when you were still at Cambridge. That might have been long ago but my father believed that the way a man comports himself at his education, is the way he will comport himself in life. Therefore, I think I must reflect more on the matter of your courting Cynthia, and until such time that I come to a decision, I expect to hear not even a hint of scandal linked with your name, for I cannot give my only daughter to a man who would drag her name through the mud with his own.’” “My God,” Freddy whispered in disbelief, “how did you keep from yanking out your hair in frustration? Whoever heard of such nonsense? It doesn’t make any sense, Henry. You’re a Duke, wealthy, in possession of all of your teeth and hair, and show not a hint of madness. What more could the Earl want for his daughter?” “Indeed, Freddy, you put that so eloquently that perhaps I shall send you to plead my case the next time,” Henry quipped. “Ah, all of this makes me glad I’ve decided to remain a bachelor until the last possible moment, for no woman I’ve met is worth all this trouble. Come, let us escape the dancing, twittering masses and find something to eat.” Henry made no argument, and the men winded their way through the crowd toward one of the hall’s two rooms set up for dining, though the journey took them a quarter of an hour, for they had to stop every few steps to acknowledge acquaintances. When, at long last, they finally reached the dining room, Freddy quickly filled his plate while Henry took only a few strawberry tarts, his favorite, and joined his friend at a table in the corner. Between forkfuls of food, Freddy muttered, “Bloody ridiculous…” “What’s that?” Henry questioned. “All of those ‘friends’ we had to stop and make small talk with just to make it from one end of the room to the other. I don’t even like half of those people, and all of this feigned affability—good God, makes a man wish he weren’t so damned correct all of the time.” “Hear, hear.” Bella shifted uncomfortably in her seat along the perimeter of the dance floor for the umpteenth time. Vaguely, she wondered if she had ever been to a ball where the seats didn’t seem to be made of steel. Perhaps the hostesses simply didn’t care and the more fashionable guests never noticed because they were always dancing. Unlike Bella. Nearly every ball since her debut had been spent sitting along the wall, cast in shadow by glowing sconces as she watched the partygoers enjoy themselves. From time to time, some kind-hearted gentleman might come along and ask her to dance out of pity, and more often than not she made an ass of herself by mumbling her responses or, worst of all, not being able to think of anything to say. In truth, over the last two years she’d grown rather used to being an observer, for she was able to witness the glittery wonder of her privileged world, but stay out of harm’s way when it came to games of the heart or mind. She told herself that she way quite content to be part of society’s audience, for how many times had she listened to her sister Beatrice rant about the fickle affections of a beau, or witnessed the painstaking precision with which Beth prepared herself to go for something as simple as a ride in the Park with a suitor. She thanked God that Bea had somehow managed to capture the hand, if not the heart, of her husband, Sir Walters, for if they had not married the summer before Bella’s debut, she could only imagine the torture Bea would have inflicted on her in a cruel effort to ‘make something presentable out of all of your frizzy hair and padding,’ as Bea used to put it. Although, Bella reflected, perhaps her eldest sister’s marriage was only a stroke of luck for Bella’s sanity, for Bea’s husband was more distant than his wife and rarely attended public assemblies besides his position in Parliament, to which he devoted every second of his time. The ball continued and as Bella let her thoughts carry her away the swirling gowns of the dancers and the boisterous murmurings of the crowd melded together into a haze of familiarity. Her mother stood a few yards away, conversing with a small group of friends she’d known since her school days. Each woman in the circle could have stepped right off of a fashion plate, for they were all dressed elegantly in jewel-toned taffetas and silks that accented their mature years, rather than diminishing them. Gazing at her mother, the most striking of the bunch, dressed in emerald bombazine with a green-gray turban wrapped around honey colored locks, Bella once again wondered how she could be her daughter. All of the women in her mother’s family were renowned for their beauty, and the legend remained true until Bella had come along. In fact, she sometimes wondered if she fit into any of society’s ideals for womanhood. She sewed passably, painted horribly, and spoke French with an obvious accent, yet these were the things that defined a woman and a good wife. As a child, it never occurred to her that she might not one day be married and have children of her own, but now the thought settled itself into the pit of her stomach with a sickening tightness. Never to be loved by a good man, never to experience the passions of romance, or the joy of holding her children in her arms. For a frightening moment, she was afraid that she was going burst into tears in the middle of the ball, but with quiet strength—something she learned from years of practice—she tamped the wave of depression into a tiny ball and pushed it to the furthest corner of her consciousness, hoping that it would remain there. Instead, she thought of more pleasant things, like Beth’s upcoming marriage to Lord Geoffrey, the two were dancing together at that very moment, making a perfect pair with golden hair, fair skin and blue eyes. She thought of her mother’s odd behavior the past week, and that led her to thoughts of Maggie and her adamant demand that she speak with a gentleman tonight and allow him to see the ‘real’ Bella. At that thought, she laughed without mirth, thinking, 'Well, it would be a bit easier if any gentleman wanted to talk to me, Maggie, dear.' Her melancholy mood was threatening to return as she distractedly scanned the sea of bodies for no one in particular. It was with a jolt of surprise and a crack of involuntary laughter that she set eyes upon her childhood friends, Cathy and Phillip. Her mood brightened considerably when she saw that were coming her way. Phil addressed her first, bowing at the waist with mock formality. “My Lady Arabella, how do you do this evening?” Arabella batted her eyelashes coquettishly, simpering, “Quite well, my Lord Rutherford, quite well.” Cathy wanted no part of their little game. “We’ve been looking all over for you, Bella, you missed Sir Tyesdale step on the hem of his partner’s gown. It didn’t tear, thank goodness, but the man actually reached down, in the middle of the floor, to see for himself that he’d done no harm to it.” “Truly?” She asked, simply unable to believe that the elderly Knight would so much forget himself that he’d take hold of a woman’s garments in public. “Truly,” Phil replied. “Though I couldn’t quite believe it myself, and I was there to witness it. He must be getting far, far on into his age to have behaved as he did tonight. It’s a wonder that his family doesn’t insist he remain home in the country.” “That’s horrible,” Cathy said with widened eyes. “Just because he is old does not mean that he is unfit to be a part of society. He is a rather nice gentleman, actually, and it’s rude of you to imply he should be locked away, Phil.” “Calm yourself, Cathy. I never said that he should be kept at home, I said it’s a wonder his family hasn’t done so, for I am well-acquainted with his two sons and neither of them are extremely benevolent, if you catch my meaning.” Both Bella and Cathy nodded in silent understanding. After a few more seconds of silence, Phil spoke again. “Well then, Bella, what’ve you been up to for the last hour or so? Debating the merits of Jane Austen with some stuffy matron? Charming an unsuspecting old lord with your smile to get him to donate to one of your charities?” “Nothing nearly so entertaining. I don’t believe I’ve moved from this chair since Mother, Beth and I arrived earlier.” Cathy and Phil exchanged a look. “Ah, playing the recluse again, Bella? Sometimes I wonder if you and the girl I met all those summers ago at twelve years old are really the same person,” Phil said. “I’m hardly playing at anything, Phil,” she protested. “I simply…don’t enjoy these balls. Besides, if you will recall correctly, the day that we met I ran away into the forest when some of the other boys called me names. Not quite the actions of a girl as stalwart as you seem to remember.” “And yet, if I recall correctly,” Phil retorted, “you paid each one of those boys back in turn the next night when you put cricket and beetles between their bed sheets.” “Bella, you didn’t!” Cathy’s shocked tone was belied by a wide smile. Arabella blushed. “Well, they called me horrible names and they—they deserved it.” Phil and Cathy both laughed at Bella’s stubborn tone. Then Phil took her hand in both of his. “You see? This is the girl I know and love, why don’t you allow others to get to know you instead of sitting against the wall like a misplaced pot of flowers?” With an inward groan of frustration, Bella wondered if he and Maggie were working together in an attempt to nag her to death. “I think I’ve had quite enough friendly advice for one night and—,” she stopped speaking as she saw a young man approach the little circle that she, Beth and Phil had made in order to converse. The gentleman bowed to Bella and Phil, murmuring a vague, “Good evening, my Lord, my Lady,” then turned his full attention to Beth who, Bella noticed with interest, was slightly flushed. “Madam, may I have the honor of this dance,” he asked in slightly accented tones. Bella didn’t remember ever having made his acquaintance in the past, and she knew she would recall a face like his. Long, dark locks of wavy hair fell charmingly across his chiseled features and Bella was struck by the strange violet color of his eyes, his honey-colored skin and the fullness of his lips, visible beneath a perfectly clipped mustache. Who is he? Bella wondered to herself, watching the way Cathy curtsied to him, her eyes never leaving his face. “Bella…Phil…if you’ll excuse me,” she murmured, not waiting for a reply before she placed her hand in that of her unknown escort and walked to the floor with him to the beginning strains of a waltz. “Phil, do you know who that man is,” Bella asked in wonder. Phil didn’t respond and she glanced at him questioningly, only to have his eyes slide away from her own. He seemed angry, but she couldn’t fathom what about. “Phil…” she urged. She watched in confusion as a muscle in his jaw clenched and relaxed, then he answered evenly. “His name is Etien Brouillard. He is the son of a French émigré and some long-dead lord whose name I cannot recall. He grew up in France with his mother, but recently returned to England to take his place in society, though he has been somewhat withdrawn since his return.” With the Heart Bella momentarily forgot about Phil’s unexplained irritation as she allowed this Etien Brouillard’s story to swirl inside her thoughts. He was an outsider by virtue of his birth, yet kept himself distant from society by choice. He reminded her of herself. “He is quite handsome. And what remarkable eyes,” she said, her own eyes following him and Beth around the marble floor. It wasn’t that she was particularly attracted to him or held any designs for him in a romantic sense; it was more like she had felt a connection to him, as if he could understand her in ways that no one she had ever met would be able. Phil’s voice drew her out of her reverie. “Yes, I have heard tell that many women of the ton find him quite handsome. But,” he said slowly, with the same tightness in his voice, “I believe Cathy has set her sights for him and he for her.” Bella peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. Every fiber of his being seemed to have been drawn taut as he watched the couple swirl around and around, so close in each other’s arms. Bella had never seen Phil behave like this and it confused her. Why would Phil react so strongly just because a man asked Beth to dance? The same type of thing had occurred countless times before and he simply joked into Bella’s ear about their mincing steps as Cathy made faces at them over her partner’s shoulder. Then, the truth of the matter dawned on her like a thunder clap. 'Phil is in love with Cathy.' The thought occurred to Bella with such lightning swiftness that she could barely refrain from gasping aloud. Of course, it all made sense; for had they not appeared by her side tonight having already been in each other’s company? And didn’t Phil pay ‘friendly’ calls at Cathy’s home a few times a month? And, hadn’t he sworn that he would never, ever marry unless he was able to form a friendship with any prospective wife? Her head spun with the implications of her discovery. Biting her lip she continued to watch Phil’s expression from beneath her lashes. As his friend she knew that she should say something to try to help him, but for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine a single thing to say to someone who was frustrated in love. Fortunately, she was saved from needing to comment when Phil turned to her. “Are you thirsty? Let’s go find something to dampen the throat and, with any luck, lighten the mood.” Clasping her elbow, he turned to lead the way through the crowd when Bella heard him mutter a quiet, “Bloody hell.” Looking around for the cause of his irritation, she realized that it was the gorgeous woman coming toward them, having just disengaged from a group of friends. Mrs. Anastasia Clyde had been widowed at the tender age of twenty-three, yet had never finished the customary year of mourning for the husband who was twice her age. The woman was a walking masterpiece. It was true that the haute monde had its claim to beauties to fit every taste and fancy, but this was a woman who brought men to their knees. She walked with a sensual sway to her hips, which only served to accentuate the fact that the dampened silk skirts of her crimson gown clung to every curve of her perfect body. Coal black hair curled in delectable waves to frame a porcelain-skinned face and thick-lashed, cerulean eyes. She intimidated Bella with her self-confident air and the way she could make any man forget decorum for the lure of her bow-shaped lips. For the fifth time in fifteen minutes, Bella found herself regarding Phil from the corner of her eye. Half-expecting his mouth to be hanging open and for him to, any moment, desert her for the guaranteed pleasures of Mrs. Clyde’s company, she was surprised to see that his countenance had once again turned stormy. “Phillip,” Anastasia breathed as soon as she drew close enough, “ I have had quite the trial finding you again, my lord.” It didn’t escape Arabella’s notice that Anastasia neither looked in her direction nor greeted her. She felt Phil’s hand tense where he still held her arm. “Anastasia, I believe you’ve met Arabella Smythe,” he said pointedly, illustrating that he’d noticed her rudeness. Bella curtsied to the other woman as Phil continued. “As for not being able to find me, I do believe that is a regular occurrence at gatherings of this size. Though it may seem an inconvenience to some, to others it may be a blessing.” Bella’s gasp at Phil’s comment was drowned out by Anastasia’s tinkling laughter. “Careful, my Lord, or I may have to drag myself back to my circle of friends with a broken heart to tell them that the ever amicable Lord Rutherford is not the man we thought he was, and has given way to an ogre.” Something glinted deep in the woman’s eyes as she said the words and Bella sensed something inexplicable pass between the two. She felt as if she were caught between two tigers about to claw each other to death. “Madam…,” Phil began through clenched teeth, only to be cut off by Mrs. Clyde. “By the by, m’lord, I came to tell you that you missed our dance,” she said, holding up a dance card on which Phil’s name was written, “and I’ve come to claim another, as brazen as that might make me.” “Forgive me, madam, but I am just escorting Lady Arabella to fetch a glass of punch and it would be most ungentlemanly of me to desert her. Perhaps later I will—“ Once again, Mrs. Clyde cut him off. “Fie, Phillip, I am sure Lady Arabella is quite able to look after herself. Besides, she spends her time sitting out the dances all the time, so I’m sure this will be no different. I, on the other hand, shall be most put out if I am deserted. I shall question your honor, m’lord.” Her voice was almost icy as she finished speaking and the silence that descended between them made Bella sure that there was some underlying tension that caused Phillip and Mrs. Clyde to eye each other like the gravest enemies. At long last, and just when Arabella felt certain she would crack beneath the strain of the past minutes, Phil stepped away from Mrs. Clyde, bringing Bella with him. Leaning down, he whispered, “Forgive me, but I must entertain that harpy’s whimsy and dance with her, though God knows I’d rather wrap my hands around her neck and…” he trailed off when he saw Bella’s eyes widen in alarm. “Bella, wait for me here and I’ll be back as soon as I can. I need to speak with you about…something of great import.” With that, he brought her hand to his lips and turned away to escort Mrs. Clyde onto the floor to the sound of a minuet. Bella, suddenly feeling quite lonely, made her way to a solitary chair against the wall. To her left groups of men and women laughed and conversed with growing joviality as the champagne continued to flow. And to her right, the wall stretched out almost endlessly along the length of the Grand Ballroom. Just near her ear, a massive white marble pedestal held a huge vase with a generous arrangement of hothouse orchids and tiger lilies. Bella inhaled their perfume and leaned her head against the wall, wondering where Cathy had disappeared to, and when. It was such a strange night, with her mother’s secrets, Cathy’s mysterious companion and that little scene between Phil and Mrs. Clyde. These were the times that she felt as if her life were a play and she was the only audience member, while everyone else possessed an integral part. The older she grew, the more Arabella came to realize that though Maggie’s viewed the world as a vast land of possibility, when it came to her, Arabella, it felt more like a prison. The worst part was that she had nowhere to go. It wasn’t as if she was about to be swept off of her feet by a charming nobleman, and she had no marketable skills so she couldn’t possibly live on her own unless she became a governess. And, even the thought of caring for another woman’s children made Bella’s heart ache, for she could never do so without loving them herself, and that was only a secondary kind of love. With a sigh, she wished that the world wasn’t as vain or blind, and that life had been more kind to her. Self-pity wasn’t her typical mindset, but she felt as if she had earned, over her flawed lifetime, the right to wallow in disappointment for a few moments at least. Her reverie skidded to an abrupt halt when she heard voices coming from very near her seated position. Looking around, she couldn’t fathom how she was able to hear a conversation when all of the people in her line of vision were yards away. Then, a muted laugh wafted toward her, and she realized that the pedestal and vase on her right blocked her view of an alcove, into which two women must have stepped in order to gossip more freely. Once the mystery of the voices was solved, Bella began to turn her attention back to her own thoughts, being uninterested in the petty twitters of unknown women. She’d just succeeded in tuning them out when her own name caught her attention. “…that Smythe girl, Amelia, is that her name? I can never remember,” one voice said. “No, no, it’s Arabella, I believe. It’s her older sister, Beth, who Lord Geoffrey is said to be quite taken with.” At this, Bella smiled, forgetting her disgust with the women’s gossip, in light of her joy for her sister. “Lady Beth is the elder? I was quite sure that Amelia was the eldest, for all her plainness. She has that sort of air about her that you see about a girl who is half on the shelf. Why, I would never have thought that a debutante or her Mama would allow herself to be so fat or mousy if she is still young and rich enough to gain a husband.” Bella felt cold all over to hear herself spoken of in such a manner. How cruel these women were to insult and ridicule her when they had most likely only ever spoken a few words to her, if Arabella had ever been introduced to them at all. To her horror, the first woman laughed and went on. “Hyacinth, how harsh. She is not quite fat, as you say, but she is by no means thin. In fact, she is rather an odd girl. She never dances or talks to anyone beside her family, Lady Catherine—Lord Barrany’s daughter—and Phillip, Lord Rutherford. But one can hardly blame her, for I wouldn’t want to call attention to myself with a face and figure such as hers.” Bella decided she had heard enough. The amusement in their voices as they shredded her very being into ribbons clawed at her already bruised heart. Rising from her chair, she managed to hold herself together, even as the other woman replied to her friend. “Perhaps she doesn’t want to marry for fear that she will have children as cursedly unsightly as herself.” The women’s ringing laughter echoed in Bella’s ears as she fled, red-faced from the ballroom. Rushing blindly through a door and down a darkened hallway, she didn’t stop until she found herself alone in the quiet interior of the house, which wasn’t lit by candles or assaulted by the noise of the crowd. Bella felt as if she could truly breathe for the first time that night. Closed doors lined the hallway on both sides, and Bella told herself that she shouldn’t wander into unlit rooms in someone else’s household, but at the same moment she opened the door directly to her left to reveal an empty, but massive library, dimly lit by the glow of wall sconces that had been turned down as if in anticipation of being occupied. Stepping into the room and closing the door, she felt as if she had escaped the pain of the moments before. Yet even as her embarrassment began to recede, the women’s words would not cease a constant circuit through her brain. Tears began to fall unheeded from her eyes. It was the first time that she’d cried in a very long while and they came in rivulets that coursed down her round cheeks to drip from her chin. Moving quickly toward a velvet-covered chaise, Bella collapsed into a fit of weeping that would have disgusted her if she’d been able to see herself.